Can you imagine?

I had already decided some of my paternal line had to have been
aliens. Seemingly, they dropped in, married, had children, and left
again-- all in the space of a decade- between census years at that.
After all, I had spent the last ten years looking for them. Sure, I
could find evidence of my other paternal lines, but this one appeared
to be an impossible hurdle for me. Imagine my surprise when an
attorney answered my email inquiry on my "alien" family line. Imagine
my surprise when someone else had real evidence that they existed!!

This retired gentleman was kind enough to tell me that his family
thought they were kin to mine. In fact, they wanted to be related to
mine. Imagine my surprise when he told me my family had a bigger role
in the new America than I had any knowledge of. He had a scrapbook of
old newspaper articles from the 1880s which one of his kinsman had
written about my family. It would appear his kinsman conveniently
overlooked the small fact that his ancestor had nothing in common with
mine except for a surname and a general locality. To be fair, that
information is sometimes all we do have when we begin our search.

The attorney sent me wills, land deeds and a copy of the scrapbook.
Imagine my wonder as I found out this particular line did exist-- and
exist, they did. The documentation located by this attorney and
another attorney clearly documents my 5th great grandfather owned a
tavern in NYC. Now that in itself isn't unusual. What is unusual
about this is he owned this tavern as early as 1776 on the northwest
corner of Wall and Nassau Streets. What is unusual about this tavern
is that it was located next to City Hall, which was renamed Federal
Hall in 1785 when it became the seat of the United States government.

Can you imagine the scene on April 30, 1789? The day when General
George Washington and John Adams were to be sworn in as the first
President and Vice-President under the newly ratified United States
Constitution? Tis little doubt my family members easily were able to
watch as these great men took their oaths of office. Tis little doubt
my family came into constant contact with heroes of American Revolution
as they held their sessions at Federal Hall. While it is not known, it
has been surmised by other authors that my little family tavern
assisted in the celebration of the day.

While the Constitution was signed on September 17, 1787, in
Philadelphia, it took some time for all the new states to ratify it.
Can you imagine the sense of pride and accomplishment of the men, many
who were farmers, who wrote the Constitution? Can you imagine how they
would feel today, some 219 years after its signing?

In 1956, President D D Eisenhower signed a bill into law which
established Constitution Week. This week long commemoration of the
signing of the United States Constitution will be celebrated September
17-23. Members of various Daughters of the American Revolution
Chapters and Children of the American Revolution Chapters will be
trying to raise public awareness on this document. I know one chapter,
the Augustin Clayton Chapter DAR, is reading a book to elementary
school children on the writing of the Constitution. I know many
chapters are ringing bells in honor of this event and receiving
proclamations from many cities. In addition, the Marquis de LaFayette
Chapter Sons of the American Revolution will be in parades and continue
to spread the message of patriotism and its continuing importance
today.

Can you imagine if we were all more aware of our precious heritage and
the freedoms which this document provides to us as American citizens?
More than ever, with the trials this great nation is facing, we need to
honor our Constitution and the men and women who are defending it
today. Imagine my thrill in finding out the different roles my family
had in the fight for our country-- not only during the American
Revolution, but continuing on today to my kinsman who is serving in
Iraq. Can you imagine my gratitude to all these soldiers? To these
brave men and women who are willing to lay their lives down today for
the ideals of freedom? I pray, dear reader, that not only can you
imagine, but rather, you share my sense of pride in our country and
gratitude to her soldiers.

The Past, Part 2

My mother was right. Of course, she always knew that. It’s just that I didn’t. Her family did have strong roots going way back in South Carolina. “The Book”, which I mentioned when last we met, was a great starting point for me to find her family. While the information was indeed sketchy on her direct bloodline, the clues jumped off the pages at me.

By looking at the location of some of the distant sides of her paternal line, I was able to determine where I needed to look. I had always thought her family was from Charleston. Not so. Before they got down to Charleston in the mid-1800s, they were up in the Marion District. Going further back led me to North Carolina and even back to the Philadelphia area in the 1700s. That was a surprise! Who knew that my mother’s genteel southern family had roots up in Yankee land?

The Marion District of South Carolina was up by the North Carolina border. I started looking at wills and deeds to find the family. I even came across some old jurors’ names that had been called for jury duty. This all just didn’t appear. It took many hours of laborious searching and endless sneezing at the dust on old books in the Charleston library as well as locating a local historical society outside of Charleston. There is a great historical society called the Three Rivers Historical Society. They have gathered a lot of information on the Marion, Williamsburg, Florence, Pee Dee and Georgetown areas of South Carolina. If you have any roots going back to those areas, these people, who are located next to a funeral home, have a good chance of either having it or knowing someone who does. Their records include wills, deeds, old family Bibles, cemetery readings, obituaries, local church records, and other obscure documentation. They are certainly worth checking out. I own several of their books and use them as reference on a regular basis.

It was relatively easy to trace some of my mother’s people by looking at all these records. What made it fun was stumbling across a 94-year old woman who remembered my great grandmother. She was a charming old lady and happy to talk of the old times. When I asked where my great grandmother was from, she replied, “Hell Hole Swamp.” “Just exactly what,” I asked as she glanced at the astonished look on my face, “is Hell Hole Swamp?” She laughed easily and said, “It’s a BAD place to be from.”

I found that comment intriguing enough to start me on another road trip. Hell Hole Swamp is actually a very real place located in the Francis Marion National Forest outside of Charleston. With my trusty map, spouse, children, and a full tank of gas, we started out on this journey. We turned right at the little old store that she had spoken of and found the cemetery where some of the family rests. We traced back to the store, turned left, and found one of the plantations, which she had mentioned. Then, a little ways further down the road, we drove into Cordesville, the actual birthplace of my grandfather. A turn, the only turn I might add, onto Alligator Road led us to Hell Hole Swamp. The only sign of human life on this journey, other than the man at the store, was one other man who was putting on hip pants, presumably to protect him as he prepared to walk in the swamp.

We found two more cemeteries, which yielded me with more pictures of relatives’ final resting places. I even gleaned some other surnames for which I would later search. After all, in the middle of the swamp, how many other families come through with fresh blood to marry? In those days of old? Not many, I would say.

We found one hand painted sign on the side of the road, which read “Hell Hole Swamp”. Voila! We were there! Suffice it to say, there was nothing there. At least, nothing that I would classify as civilization. That’s not quite right. There’s plenty of lush vegetation and I would venture to say it’s just chock full of animals who slither and crawl around. I imagine some of the swamp’s occupants gave Alligator Road its name. It’s hard to believe anyone ever had any reason to live there. But live there, they did. They were there during the jubilant era of rice planting in the Carolinas. That took lots of water and the swamp was a natural place for these fields.

As cell phone service was nonexistent in the swamp, I was thrilled our car did not break down. I doubt the local inhabitants would truly believe that I was just looking for my family deep in the swamp! Just looking at the landscape made me truly realize how far my grandfather did go in his lifetime. From birth on the edge of a swamp, to marrying the daughter of Swedish emigrants, to becoming renowned as the person to call to restore old plantations, to witnessing the births of his grandchildren, my grandfather had an interesting story. I only wish he was here to tell me about it.

Who cares about the past?

<fontfamily><param>Times</param>Family History. That's in the past.
Who cares? That’s a common response from relatives when I start
asking questions. Who cares? I care. By looking at the past and by
gleaning what information we can from the records, we can start to
understand why our elders had some of their sayings about life.

For instance, my maternal grandfather was known for saying one’s name
should only be in the newspaper three times- once when you’re born,
once when you marry, and once when you die. And, of course, my
personal favorite saying of his was “Company are like fish, after
three days they stink.”

My grandfather was very interested in history. Not so much of his
personal family history, but rather that of the town he lived in. A
quaint town, known as the Holy City, and to outsiders as Charleston,
SC, is a wonderful old town full of history. If you have a chance to
go, do so and take the time to learn something about it. After all,
it has been around since 1670. My grandfather was most interested in
the architecture and had the opportunity to restore many an old
building and plantation. He was also president of the Charleston
Hysterical, er, Historical, Society.

Now, why would he say that one’s name should only be in the paper
three times. He was well known for his restoration skills and his
name is still recognized in historical circles some 40 years after his
death. I admit, I didn’t know hardly anything about his family. All
I knew was he died when I was young. It wasn’t until I got interested
in genealogy that the clues began to surface.

My mother told me the family had owned some five plantations before
the War of the Northern Aggression, also known as the “Recent
Unpleasantness” and that she would play with confederate money in the
attic of one of the plantation houses. Now that was something I
wanted to check on.

I started searching the census records for the Charleston area in
addition to searching the newspaper archives for my grandparents. By
checking the obituary for my grandfather, I found his parents’ names
and the location of his birth. I checked the names of his siblings
and their obituaries. Slowly, but surely, I was beginning a database
of his roots. And then, I found the book. There was a book written
about his family, by distant cousins. Now to be fair, it was only a
minimal genealogy book, which left much to be desired. But it was a
start. From there, I gathered more obituaries and then started
looking at church records. My excitement grew as I found the maiden
name of his mother.

In my excitement, I started trying to track her family. My mom had
told me long ago that they used to go to Palatka, FL, to see some of
her daddy’s people. Now, how did they get there from SC? I found the
clues in a book of church records as well as a book about the Civil
War. The book on the Civil War was actually the memoirs of Colonel
Asbury Coward, who was a cousin of my great grandmother, and the man
my grandfather knew as “Uncle Asbury”. Asbury Coward’s story was a
fascinating one and one worth reading. Asbury Coward is still
remembered today in Charleston as The Citadel named its dining hall in
his honor and his portrait hangs at the school. By looking at his
portrait, I could easily detect which side of the family that my
mother’s and my uncle’s cheeks came from. The book can be found
through interlibrary loan and a copy is at the Georgia Tech library.

Who cares about family history? I care. The story of my family’s
past is fascinating and I know that your family history is as well.
Who cares? We all should. We should all know something to tell our
children, of our history, which also tells us of our country’s history.

(To be continued)

</fontfamily>

July 4th & The Patriot's Hymn

The crowds were all out early for the July 4th parade in Peachtree City. The parade participants were eager to start, and the children lining the parade route were eager to see what goodies were in store for them this year.

Along with the candies was another great treat. Men and women of our Armed Forces joined in to salute America’s birthday. A lump formed in my throat as I watched the crowd clap, cheer, salute, and verbally thank the veterans of today.

We have much to be thankful and a wonderful heritage is waiting to be discovered in old records. One such find of mine was discovered in the Philadelphia area a few years back. My research uncovered an uncle of mine who was a Presbyterian minister in the 1850-1862 time frame. While he was born in Pittsburgh, his preaching assignment was in Philadelphia. This young man wrote eloquent sermons, of which one has survived and is in possession of the family. He died in 1863 of yellow fever while on a missionary trip to Egypt. I’m sad to report he left only a young widow who soon fell and drowned in a bathtub.

One of the churches he probably preached at had another young minister who penned a hymn for the July 4th celebration of 1915. This young minister was Rev. Thomas Garland. His words still carry meaning today and I humbly present them as a tribute to the veterans, past and present.

The Patriot’s Hymn

Lord, in thy house this sacred day
We kneel where patriots knelt to pray;
They pledged anew their faith in Thee,
Then took up arms for liberty.

Not is their strength, but in Thy might
They trusted to defend the right;
And Thou didst guide them by Thy hand
And ‘stablished firm our fatherland.

God of the Patriots! Be our guide,
Protect this land for which they died;
Give us our fathers’ faith in Thee,
To live for truth and liberty.

Lord, lead us in the paths of peace
Till wars throughout the world shall cease;
Till Nations’ hate and strife have died
And righteous peace and love abide.